


A Very Merry Crieffmas

by flawedamythyst



Series: Seduction By Winglet [8]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Martin's first Christmas.</p><p>Thanks to Emmyangua for betaing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Martin hadn't realised just how much he'd miss Tony at Christmas. When they'd discussed it, it hadn't seemed a big deal that he'd be at Mum's while Tony was in New York with the other Avengers. After all, it was where Martin had been at Christmas every year for as long as he could remember. 

The only real changes to the Crieff Family Christmas over the last two decades had been the addition of Caitlin's two children, the subtraction of her ex-husband after the divorce and, finally, the absence of their father after his death. It made no sense that it should feel any different this year just because Martin now had a boyfriend and yet, it did. Martin found himself missing Tony at every step of the well-worn Crieff traditions. 

It didn't particularly help that his family still had no idea how to treat the whole issue. Mum was heavily in denial while Simon kept referring to Tony as Martin's 'special friend' to Caitlin's sons, as if an eight-year-old and a ten-year-old wouldn't know exactly what that meant. They weren't idiots.

If anything, they were the most relaxed about the whole thing. Davie asked Martin hundreds of complicated questions about how the Iron Man suit worked, most of which Martin couldn't answer, while James seemed to think that if he asked enough times, Martin would persuade Tony to go into school with him for Show and Tell. Martin wasn't sure how to cope with all the sudden attention; Simon had always won Favourite Uncle by having enough free money to buy them decent presents. Normally Martin would be pleased at the attention, but all their questions just made him miss Tony more.

It was some consolation that Tony seemed to be missing Martin just as much in return, if the constant texts were any indication. He'd kept Martin up-to-date with a blow-by-blow account of exactly what a band of superheroes got up to when celebrating Christmas, starting around lunchtime on Christmas Eve.

_Steve is into the third hour of trying to explain Christmas to Thor. His patience is an example to us all._

_Clint thinks hanging tinsel involves projectile weapons. There are arrow holes in all my walls._

_Holy shit, Natasha's eggnog puts hair on your chest. And this is coming from the guy who used to drink the shit that came out of Rhodey's still at college like it was water._

_Okay, fine, that wasn't Rhodey's still. It was mine. God, that stuff was vile. The fratboys used to buy it off me for hazing._

_Bruce is wearing a Santa hat._

That one came with a photo of Bruce wearing said hat, holding a cup of eggnog gingerly, as if afraid it would spontaneously combust, and glaring at the camera as if it had personally offended him. 

“Whatever are you grinning at?” asked Caitlin.

Martin blinked and looked up. “Sorry,” he said, tucking his phone away. “Tony's sending me photos of-”

“I think we can all guess,” said Simon, with false heartiness. “No need to discuss in front of _les enfants_!” His eyes darted to Davie and James and then back to Martin.

Martin blinked at him in confusion. “Of Bruce in a Santa hat,” he finished.

Davie lit up. “The Hulk Bruce? In a hat? Is it giant? Can I see, can I see?”

“He's not the Hulk in the photo,” said Martin. That didn't seem to diminish Davie's excitement.

“Let me see! Let me see!”

Martin caught Caitlin's eye roll and pulled his phone back out to show Davie and James the photo.

“Oh, WOW,” they breathed, as if setting eyes on a great masterpiece for the first time.

“Now, don't go looking through Martin's phone for other photos,” Simon said to them. “That's not nice.”

The boys hadn't shown interest in any such thing, not that there was anything worth seeing if they did. Other than a few shots of Tony, Martin had only taken photos of aeroplanes. To his great and lasting disappointment, neither of Caitlin's children seemed to have any interest in aviation, despite all his efforts.

“Grown ups have private things on their phones,” continued Simon.

Martin frowned. “What kind of photos do you think I have?”

Simon let out an expansive laugh. “I'm sure I don't-”

“Oh, for god's sake, Simon,” snapped Caitlin. “Being gay doesn't mean he has anything more perverted on his phone that you do.”

“Caitlin!” exclaimed Mum. “Not in front of the boys!”

Martin wasn't sure if Mum was objecting to the use of 'pervert' or the mention of him being gay, and he didn't want to know.

“Another beer?” he asked Simon and ran away to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. He took a couple of deep breaths once he was alone, and then texted Tony back.

_Tell Bruce that the photo made a pair of small boys very happy. Maybe that'll stop him from murdering you._

Tony replied while Martin was popping the tops off two bottles of beer. He delayed going back into the sitting room in order to read it.

_That might have worked, except he's found out I also tweeted it. I'm hiding._

_Me too_ , Martin started to type, and then thought better of it. No need for Tony to know just how horrifically awkward Simon was making things.

_Maybe if you tweet a photo of yourself in a silly hat as well, it will pacify him._

Martin returned to the sitting room, where he handed the beer to Simon with a smile that probably looked as forced as it felt.

“Oh, I know what would be a fun way to spend Christmas Eve,” said Mum. “Charades!”

Martin took a long swig of his beer and wished, with every fibre of his being, that it was Black Widow's eggnog.

They were three rounds in and James was proving that the Crieff tendency towards terrible acting had been passed on to another generation when Tony's reply vibrated in Martin's pocket.

“It's a bee! An ant! No, no, the devil!” guessed Mum breathlessly as Martin slid the phone out of his pocket and glanced at it.

There was a photo of Tony dressed in his Iron Man suit, wearing a Santa hat and a strand of tinsel swirled around his neck like a scarf. His mask was up so that Martin could see the wide, crazed grin on his face.

“Is it a bull?” asked Caitlin.

Martin stared at the photo a bit longer and then tapped back, _I think it's time to lay off the eggnog._

He looked back up at James's furious pantomime and tried to re-engage himself in the game. “A Fairey Gordon Mk I,” he tried.

James let out a loud sigh and glared at him. “Not everything's a _plane_ , Uncle Martin,” he said, with exactly the same note of exasperation that teenage Caitlin had used to adopt when saying the same thing.

“What is it then, darling?” asked Mum. “You're too good – you've got us all stumped!”

“It was _Shrek_ ,” said James. “ _Obviously._ ”

Yes, he was definitely growing into all the same mannerisms that Caitlin had had during her teenage years. That seemed like karma.

“Oh, very good!” said Mum, who clearly didn't have the faintest idea who Shrek was. “Martin's go now, then.”

“That's not how it works,” said Davie. “He had the stupidest guess, why does he go next?”

“Don't tell your uncle he's stupid,” said Caitlin.

“Even if it was pretty silly,” added Simon.

Martin sighed. “You go next, Mum.”

As Mum fluttered about how she couldn't _possibly_ , and _what should she act out anyway? Someone would have to come up with an idea for her,_ Martin pulled his phone out again.

_God, I wish I had some lethal eggnog right now. We're playing Charades._

There followed five minutes of terrible acting and ever-increasing frustration before Mum finally broke.

“Oh dear, I'm just so bad at this,” she said. “It was _Roman Holiday_. Didn't you get that I was a Roman soldier?”

“I thought you were being a zombie, Mum-o,” said Simon. “Which did seem an odd choice for you, I admit.”

“You have a go, darling,” said Mum. “You'll be much better. You always were a good actor – do you remember being Demetrius at school?”

“Not really my finest hour,” said Simon, failing to hide his pleasure at the praise as he stood up. “Acting always seemed a bit camp for me. Ah, no offence, Martin.”

Martin blinked. “Why would I be offended? I'm not an actor.”

There was an awkward pause before Simon let out a false laugh. “Haha, exactly. Yes. Right, let's get started then.”

He started his charade just as Martin's phone went off again. He ignored what was sure to be the opening word of a James Bond film title – Simon was always so predictable – in favour of looking to see what Tony had to say.

_You're such an inspiration, seriously, it's incredible. Clint and I just came up with the rules for Drinking Charades. Oh yeah, this is going to be a night to remember._

_Or to lose all memory of in a drunken haze,_ Martin sent back.

“ _Live And Let Die_!” announced Caitlin.

“Oh, very good,” said Mum. “That was so quick!”

“It was predictable,” said Caitlin as she stood up for her go. “Right, let's see...”

****

After the boys had gone to bed, the rest of them sat around drinking the last of the mulled wine, wondering how early they could get away with claiming they were tired enough to sleep so that they could escape for the night.

“What time do you think we'll want breakfast?” asked Mum. “What time will the boys be up?”

“At the crack of dawn,” said Caitlin grimly.

“Do we need to take bites out of mince pies or nibble at carrots?” asked Simon.

Caitlin shook her head. “They're past that. James has become a bit zealous about identifying those sorts of tricks, he'd probably go around taking prints of all our teeth to work out who did it.”

“Maybe you should have got him a detective kit,” said Mum. “Oh, do you remember the year Martin tried to take everyone's fingerprints, and he got ink all over my nice white tablecloth? That never did come out, you know. I had to turn it into dusters.”

Martin did know that, because the topic had come up on a semi-regular basis ever since.

_'Cause the walls start shaking,_ started his phone.  
 _The earth was quaking._

“Oh, that's Tony,” he said, fumbling to get his phone out before the tune Tony had set for himself got to the chorus.

_My mind was aching,_  
 _And we were making it,_

He jabbed at the button to answer it, missed, and the phone fell to the floor.

_And you shook me all night long,_  
 _Yeah, you shook me all night long._

“Oh,” said Mum, faintly.

Martin sighed. Too late. He finally got the phone in his hand for long enough to answer it, trying to ignore Mum's scandalised expression and Simon's glare.

“Hi, Tony.”

“Spitfire! MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE!! I hope you've had as much festive cheer as I have!”

Martin couldn't stop himself from letting out a laugh. “And by festive cheer, you mean lots and lots of eggnog?”

“Basically, yeah,” said Tony. “Can you talk? Are you doing family things? Am I an unwelcome intruder into your cosy British family Christmas?”

“No, it's fine,” said Martin, getting up. “Hang on, I'll just find an empty room.” He went into the kitchen. “So, on a scale of me to Thor, how much did you drink tonight?”

“Oh, not much,” said Tony. “Well, not as much as some other Christmas Eves I could mention. Did you ever hear about the one I spent in Courchevel? I got banned from the slopes for – well, I'm not that sure. I kinda blacked out, and the official report only said 'Acts too indecent and numerous to list'.”

“Christ, Tony! That sounds horribly dangerous,” said Martin, unable to hold it in as various mental images of insanely drunk skiing antics crossed his mind, and the terrible injuries that might have resulted.

“Oh hey, no need for that, it was all pre-Iron Man, back when I was a crazy kid living one long string of parties.”

“As opposed to now,” said Martin, “when you occasionally take the night off to get wasted with superheroes.”

“Bingo!” said Tony. “Man, seriously though, never play Charades with Thor. You think he's going to be terrible, because of the lack of pop culture knowledge, but it turns out that all they do in Valhalla is act shit out while drunk. He did the best mime of _space-time continuum_ I've ever seen. It was incredible.”

“I'm terrible at Charades,” said Martin. “It took me nearly ten minutes to get my family to guess _Superman_.”

“Seriously?” said Tony. “But you just do the flying fist thing and you're done.”

Martin coughed. “Yeah, I didn't think of that until afterwards. I was trying to do 'sounds like loop', then 'er' as in 'hesitant stuttering', then 'man' by- Well. I just pointed at me and Simon a lot.”

There was a contemplative silence. “Wow,” said Tony eventually. “Were you deliberately going for the most obscure way to mime that?”

“No,” said Martin, miserably. “I'm just not good at coming up with these things when I'm put on the spot.”

“Unlike when you're in bed,” said Tony. “You come up with some great ideas then. Remember the thing in-”

“No,” said Martin quickly, casting a worried eye at the door. “No talking about sex while I'm in my mother's house.”

“Oh, come on! _I'm_ not in your mother's house, after all, and I'm really missing the thing you do-”

“Stop!” commanded Martin desperately. “I've got to make polite conversation with my family when I get off the phone, not go and- and-”

“Jerk off?” finished Tony. “Man, I wish you would.”

“Not here,” said Martin firmly. “I'm sharing a room with Simon, you know.”

“Ugh, fine,” said Tony. “I'll just have to recycle old fantasies of you tonight, rather than having fodder to make new ones.”

“I'm sure you'll cope,” said Martin.

Simon came in as Tony was replying with an overly-dramatic statement about just how much he wouldn't be able to cope.

“Don't stay on the phone all night,” Simon said. “You are here to see your family, after all, not chat with your- your _boyfriend_.”

“It's been less than five minutes,” protested Martin.

“Who's that?” asked Tony.

“It's Simon,” said Martin. “Apparently, I have to go and be social with my family now.”

“You know how much Mum-o enjoys having us all together in the same room,” said Simon.

Martin let out a sigh. “Yeah, I know,” he said. Mum probably thought she was subtle about how over-joyed she got on the handful of times a year that they all managed to be together, but that was like saying that Arthur's steward's hat was subtle. “Tony, I've got to go. Are you going to bed?”

Tony let out a long sigh. “I guess I'll have to, if I'm not going to be chatting to my boyfriend.”

“Just remember,” said Martin, as earnestly as he could, “the earlier you go to bed, the earlier Father Christmas can come.” That had worked to get Davie and James into bed. Well, eventually.

Tony snorted. “Oh sure, cos he's the guy I want to be stuffing my stocking tonight, if you know what I mean.”

He hung up before Martin could respond with more than a horrified blink at the mental image.

“Come on,” said Simon, turning back to the sitting room. Martin took a deep breath and followed him.

****

Martin was woken up insanely early by the thumping of children's feet racing down the hall. He groaned and tried to hide under the duvet.

“How long do you think we can get away with pretending we're still asleep?” asked Simon.

They were sharing what had been Simon's bedroom when they were children. After Mum had replaced the bed in Martin's room with bunk beds for the boys, she'd bought another single bed for this room.

“I do hope you don't mind sharing a room with Simon,” she'd said, as if he and Simon still lived at home. Martin had told her it was fine and tried not to be touched that she made the bed up with his old aeroplane sheets every time he came to stay.

“Hopefully at least until the first flush of hyperactivity wears off,” said Martin.

“CHRISTMAS!! IT'S CHRISTMAS!! UNCLE MARTIN! UNCLE SIMON!! GET UP, GET UP, IT'S CHRISTMAS!!”

Martin let out a long sigh and sat up, exchanging a resigned look with Simon. “We're awake!”

“Don't eat all the porridge without us!” called Simon, also sitting up.

“THERE ARE PRESENTS!” shouted James, far too loudly to be necessary to be heard through the door.

“MUM WON'T LET US OPEN THEM WITHOUT YOU!” added Davie, which explained why they cared so much about waking them up.

“We're on our way!” called back Simon.

Feet went thumping back down the hall and downstairs. “THEY'RE COMING!” Martin heard Davie shout.

“So much for a Christmas lie-in,” he said.

Simon gave him a grin and reached out to ruffle his hair. “Remember when it was us doing the running about and shouting?”

Martin ducked out from under his hand, reaching up to tidy his hair. “I remember you waking me up by pulling a cracker right by my ear,” he said, darkly. That was the closest he'd ever come to having a heart attack.

“God, that was funny,” said Simon, rummaging in his suitcase and pulling out a wash kit. “Bagsy I the bathroom first.”

Martin was more than happy to let him have it. He waited until Simon was out of the door and then grabbed his mobile from the night stand that was squashed between the two beds and read the waiting text.

_Call me the moment you wake up._

Martin smiled at it and pressed _Call_.

“Merry Christmas,” he said when Tony picked up.

“Merry Christmas!” said Tony. “Dude, you'll never guess what the best boyfriend ever did!”

“Did he wake you up with a blowjob?” asked Martin with as much innocence as he could muster.

“Jesus, I wish,” said Tony. “That would involve him, you know, being on the same continent, which he stupidly decided not to do.”

“What an idiot,” said Martin, looking up at the marks on the walls that the Blu-Tack from Simon's posters had left. “I bet he regrets it right now.”

“I bet he does,” said Tony. “Cos do you know what I'd be doing to him right now if he was here? Something really fucking kinky, I'm telling you. Least I could do to pay him back for getting Clint to sneak into my room in the middle of the night and leave me a whole stocking full of awesome presents.”

Martin couldn't keep the smile off his face at the tone of Tony's voice. He'd been a bit worried that his plan to provide Tony with a stocking was silly and childish, but once he'd had the idea, he couldn't stop himself. There'd been something about the blasé way Tony had told him that he hadn't had one since he was eight - _My dad thought that nine-year-olds are too old for that crap_ \- that made Martin determined not to let him go without for another year.

“Did you like it?” he asked.

“It was perfect,” said Tony. “Where the hell did you get the chocolate Iron Man?”

“The internet,” said Martin. “I regretted searching for 'Iron Man toys', though. Did you know that there's-”

“-an Iron Man sex toy range?” finished Tony. “Oh yeah. Clint got me most of it for my birthday last year.”

“Really?” asked Martin. “And you've never shown me?”

Tony snorted. “Course not. What use would you have for the real Iron Man if you had a gold and red light-up dildo?”

Martin shuddered. “Ugh, I could have done without that mental image.”

“Maybe I should have got you a calendar of photos of me posing with them,” mused Tony. “Damn, too late. Next year.”

“God no, please,” said Martin. “Anything but that.”

“Anything?” asked Tony in a suggestive voice. “How about a quick round of phone sex then?”

Martin laughed. “Nice try,” he said. “I have to go and have a family breakfast with over-excited children. I am not starting the day with phone sex.”

Simon, of course, chose that exact moment to come back into the room. He'd clearly caught what Martin had just said, if the glare he sent at him was anything to go by. Martin felt himself go red.

“Oh, come on, come on,” said Tony. “Please? As a special Christmas present?”

“No,” said Martin, and it came out slightly harsher than he intended it to be. “I have to go, Tony.”

Tony let out a long sigh. “Oh fine. If you must. I'm totally going to call you later though, make sure you find time for it.”

“There's usually a mid-afternoon lull,” said Martin. “I'll text you.”

“Awesome,” said Tony. “And, Martin? Thanks for the stocking. I really – it's great.”

If the tone of his voice hadn't made it clear how much he meant it, the use of Martin's actual name would have given it away. Tony only kept that for special occasions.

“You're very welcome,” he said. For a moment, _I love you_ hovered on his tongue, but he was very aware of both Simon's presence in the room and that they weren't really at that stage of the relationship yet. Just because Martin was head-over-heels for Tony didn't mean that it was a good idea to go declaring that fact so blatantly.

“Merry Christmas,” he settled for instead.

“Merry Christmas, Spitfire,” said Tony.

Martin put the phone down with a sigh and finally pulled himself out of bed. “Bathroom free?” he asked.

Simon nodded, but didn't say anything. He didn't even look up from the clothes he was pulling out of his bag as Martin got his stuff and headed to the bathroom. Martin tried not to let himself think about the fact that the hair ruffle this morning had been the only time Simon had actually touched him so far this Christmas. Given how much boisterous manhandling he usually went in for, the absence was noticeable. Martin told himself firmly that it was a good thing to not be subjected to a crushing hug, and that it probably had nothing to do with his new role as 'the gay one'.

****

Christmas Day went exactly as every Christmas Day had gone for as long as Martin could remember. They had stockings and porridge, then Mum started her five hours of panic over cooking lunch, while refusing to let anyone else lift a finger to help. The boys spent a lot of time running around shrieking for no particular reason.

As soon as Mum reached a point where she could leave the kitchen for ten minutes at a time, they all exchanged their larger presents, most of which were rather dull. 

Davie and James had clubbed together to get Martin a pair of socks with cartoon planes on, which Martin spent several minutes looking at, trying to work out if they were Stinson Voyagers or Luscombe Phantoms. Their smiley faces made him strongly suspect that they were neither.

Mum got him an M&S jumper in blue, which was almost identical to the one Simon got in black, although rather smaller. Both of them looked as if they'd come straight out of their father's wardrobe.

“How lovely,” said Martin, and took off the jumper he was wearing so that he could put it on. He'd had a lot of experience with pretending to be pleased with rather generic presents. Simon did the same with his and Martin found himself in the odd position of wearing matching clothes with his sibling for the first time in twenty years.

“You both look so smart!” said Mum. “Oh, let me get the camera.”

A lot of photos were taken. Caitlin was forced to join them, and then the boys, and then Simon insisted on trying to work out the self-timer on Mum's camera so they could all be in one, which took a very long time. Eventually, a bell in the kitchen dinged and Mum hurried off in a panic over potatoes and they were all saved from yet more awkward posing with false smiles.

“When do you think we can start drinking?” asked Caitlin.

Simon glanced at his watch. “Another half an hour and it'll be time for 'pre-lunch drinkies'.”

“Do you think Mum will drink as much sherry as she did last year?” asked Martin.

There was a pained silence as they all remembered how that had gone.

“We'll just have to cut her off before it gets to that stage,” said Caitlin.

“I suppose you must have gained some experience of cutting people off from alcohol over the last few months,” Simon said to Martin.

Martin blinked. “What?”

“Simon!” objected Caitlin.

Simon plastered on an innocent look. “What? It's not as if it's a secret that Tony Stark drinks too much. And does other stuff,” he added, darkly.

Martin was too taken aback to respond straight away and when he did, he couldn't seem to make himself coherent. “It's not- he doesn't! That's just- just- malicious lies spread by terrible people and- and you shouldn't talk about him like that, he's better than- you don't understand just how- He doesn't-” He pulled himself short and took a deep breath, glaring at Simon, and finished with, “And he drinks a lot less around me, anyway.”

Simon snorted. “Of course he does,” he said, without a trace of belief in his voice.

“This is not a conversation to be having right now,” snapped Caitlin, darting her eyes meaningfully to Davie and James, who had looked up from the computer game they'd been playing with when Tony had been mentioned.

“You don't think they should be aware that these so-called-heroes are just as flawed as the rest of us?” asked Simon. “Or even, more than the rest of us?”

“No, not really,” said Caitlin. “Not at Christmas, anyway.”

Mum came back in before Martin could try and put together a defence about Tony's flaws. Not that he really had any, not compared to some people. He wasn't a small-minded bully like Simon, for a start.

“Whose turn is it to play Father Christmas now?” Mum asked brightly.

“Mine,” said Caitlin. She snagged a present from under the tree and held it out to Martin. “Merry Christmas, Martin.”

“Thank you,” said Martin, trying to sound natural and failing. He took a deep breath before unwrapping it, hoping to pull himself together enough to present the right façade for Mum.

When he opened it, he forgot all about Simon and his nasty comments. “Oh,” he said with surprise and pleasure.

It was a framed vintage advert for the original Starkjet, the one designed by Tony's father in the '60s. A beautifully accurate drawing of the plane hovered over a colourful globe. _Fly higher with Stark!_ it read in a bold, sweeping font.

“I thought that you might need something to put on your walls, now you've got your own place,” said Caitlin.

Martin managed to tear his eyes away from the poster for long enough to smile at her. “Thank you,” he said. “It's lovely.”

She smiled back and Martin took a moment to be grateful that at least one member of his family seemed to have accepted that he was happy with Tony. He turned his eyes back on the picture. He should send a photo to Tony to show him.

****

At lunch they ate more than Martin could have imagined, yet still only made it partway through the huge amounts that Mum had cooked. They all had a bit too much to drink, until Mum was tipsy enough to let her children clear up the dinner while she played Monopoly with Davie and James.

Caitlin and Simon started on the washing up while Martin cleared the table and filled the dishwasher with as much as he could fit in, before he gave up and left the rest piled up for Simon.

“What is she going to do with all this turkey?” he asked, wrapping the carcass to go in the fridge.

“Make us take it home,” said Simon. “Turkey sandwiches for the next week, guys.”

“Well, we can have some for lunch tomorrow,” said Caitlin.

Martin opened the fridge. “No, we can't,” he said. “There's a massive ham in here.”

Caitlin sighed. “Why does she persist in believing there are twenty of us? This is down to you two, you know. She cooks as if you'd both managed to marry and have kids.”

“She must have been expecting at least fifteen grandchildren to justify this much food,” said Martin, fighting to find space in the fridge for the turkey. How much stacking could he do without risking an avalanche next time the fridge was opened?

“It is just the four of us tomorrow, once the boys have gone to their father's, isn't it?” asked Caitlin. “She hasn't invited anyone else over?”

Martin forced the turkey into the gap he'd managed to create, then wedged the brandy butter on top. “Is Aunt Joyce talking to us again?”

“No,” said Simon. “She's still mortally insulted by the incident with the Liberty footstool.”

“Thank God,” added Caitlin.

“Then we're going to have to eat until we explode,” said Martin, shutting the fridge door with a sense of accomplishment that he'd made it all fit. “There's a trifle in there as well, and the leftover Christmas pudding, and there's still mince pies.”

“And a Christmas cake,” added Simon.

Martin winced at the idea, then looked around for something else to clear up. Everything looked done except for the washing up that Simon and Caitlin were still finishing. He twitched, remembering childhood squabbles about someone not helping clear up, then reminded himself sharply that they were all adults.

“I'm just going to pop to the loo, before the next round of mulled wine,” he said.

“Maybe we should all go to the loo,” mused Simon. “Give bulimia a try. Then we could fit in some more of all that food.”

“Ugh,” said Caitlin, and Martin escaped.

When he came back, Simon and Caitlin were still in the kitchen. He hesitated in the hallway for a moment, torn between helping his siblings with housework or going into the sitting room and being roped into Monopoly. Which would be the least dire? It was hard to say.

“You shouldn't encourage Martin, you know,” he heard Simon say, and all thoughts of Community Chest fled his mind.

“What?” replied Caitlin.

Martin moved closer to hear Simon's response.

“This thing with Tony Stark.”

“Oh, for god's sake, Simon. I had no idea you were such a bloody homophobe.”

“I'm not!” protested Simon. “I know gay people. Patrick at the office is gay, and I've had him and his partner over for drinks. They're nice enough.”

“Oh, good God,” muttered Caitlin. “Are you listening to yourself?”

“Caitlin, I don't mind that Martin's gay. I mean, I don't really like the idea of all that bum stuff myself, but if he's happy... That's not my problem with it. It's _Tony Stark_. You can't honestly think that an international, jet-setting billionaire superhero is going to stay with Martin?”

Martin's teeth ground together.

“They seem happy,” said Caitlin, but Martin could hear the doubt in her voice.

“Look, we both know how this is going to end,” said Simon. “Martin's going to get his heart broken. I mean, he's my brother and I love him, but what on earth could Tony Stark possibly see in him? Nothing that will last once the alcohol and the sex-haze wears off.”

Martin felt his face go very hot and he clenched his fists. It felt like Simon was saying out loud all the things that the back of his mind had been whispering to him for months.

“And you've just given him something that's only going to hang on his wall and remind him of how he got discarded like all Stark's other flings,” continued Simon.

“That wasn't it,” protested Caitlin weakly. “Besides, maybe he already knows. Maybe he's just going along for the ride.”

Simon snorted. “Don't be stupid. Martin is an expert at deluding himself. All those years trying to become a pilot even though he was just genuinely rubbish at it? There's no way he's prepared for Stark to get bored and dump him.”

Martin's phone vibrated in his pocket, knocking him out of the moment. He turned on his heel and swept out of the house, out the back door into the garden. The sharp cold broke through his shock at hearing Simon say such awful things and he strode to the end of the garden, trying to calm his emotions.

His phone vibrated again, and he pulled it out.

_So, apparently Clint was my secret Santa. Guess who now has the world's largest tub of metal polish?_

_I've gotta be honest, I was kinda hoping it was going to be lube. We could have got up to a lot of fun with this amount of lube._

Martin stared at the words, at the clear evidence that Tony did give a shit about him, that he meant more to him than a casual fling. He wouldn't be texting so much if he was only in it for the sex.

_He was the one who said he wanted to be serious,_ Martin reminded himself. He fumbled with the phone, hitting the _Call_ button.

“Spitfire!!” Tony greeted him. “Merry Christmas and much Yuletide cheer and all that stuff.”

“Merry Christmas,” Martin responded, trying to sound as if there were nothing wrong.

The tone of Tony's voice changed immediately. “Hey, what's up? What's happened?”

“Nothing, really,” said Martin. “Just Simon, being a bastard as usual.”

“Wow,” said Tony. “That's pretty strong language for you, he really must have crossed a line. Tell me everything.”

Martin turned to look back at the house, at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree that he could see through the window and the figures of his family moving about the room. It looked like Simon and Caitlin had finished the washing up and been pulled into the game of Monopoly.

“He doesn't understand why we're together,” Martin said to him. “Other than the sex, of course. He thinks you're-” He had to stop and take a deep breath. “He thinks you're going to abandon me once you get bored.”

“He's an idiot,” said Tony immediately. “How can he have known you his whole life and not immediately get what I see in you?”

Martin let out a breathy laugh, feeling oddly weightless as the words he'd been bottling up for a while slipped out of him. “Why would he? No one else does. I- I don't. I mean, I'm nothing special, I just – there are plenty of other ginger men with freckles who live closer to you and have more interesting lives and- and personalities, and-”

“You're an idiot too,” said Tony. “C'mon, you really think it comes down to your hair colour? I'm not sleeping with Natasha, am I?”

“She terrifies you,” Martin pointed out.

Tony snorted. “She terrifies anyone with enough brain cells to have a survival instinct. Not the point. The point is I'm with you, cos- cos you're you.”

“Right,” said Martin, trying to sound convinced.

There was a huffy sigh down the phone. “I met this cute guy in an airport and unlike every other person I meet, who all get over-excited about the money, or the superheroes, all he could talk about was my aeronautical designs. In fact, whenever I tried to splash out on him, give him a slice of the Stark Lifestyle, which is pretty much what most people hang out with me for, he'd turn it down in favour of just talking to me. If I didn't have the money or the, the superhero crap, you'd still have been as excited about meeting me, just cos of the winglets.”

“Not just meeting you,” said Martin. “I'd still be this excited, six months later, every time you call me, or sound pleased when I call you.”

“Exactly,” said Tony. “Look, there's a truth about relationships that holds just as much for your own as it does for other people's. People on the outside will never understand what it is that keep two people together. Me and you, no one else gets it, and that's their problem frankly. Fuck 'em. If Simon thinks I'm just a playboy who's going to wander off, all that proves is that he's never seen us together. If the papers all think you're only with me for my money, that only means they've never seen the arguments we have every time I try and buy you something.”

Martin pulled in a deep breath and let it out. Tony was right. Simon had no idea what Tony was really like. “I let you buy the bed,” he reminded Tony.

“Yeah,” agreed Tony. “And you let me test it out with you. Best purchase ever.”

They'd had very enthusiastic sex in it and then lain around for a good few hours, snuggled together and occasionally kissing, but mostly just talking quietly. Martin remembered how that had felt with a surge of fondness and longing. “I wish we were both back in it right now.”

Tony was silent for a moment. “I can get to you in less than two and a half hours,” he said eventually. “If I leave now, I could get there in time for supper.”

“I can't ask you to spend Christmas afternoon flying across the Atlantic for me,” protested Martin.

“You're not asking, I'm offering,” said Tony.

Martin shook his head, despite knowing Tony couldn't see him. “No, you're having superhero Christmas, I'm not going to let my family drama get in the way of that.”

“Okay, fine,” said Tony. “Tomorrow then. You guys attach more importance than us to the day after Christmas, right? I'll finish Christmas here, catch a couple hours sleep, then fly out to join you for the morning.”

“You'd have to get up stupidly early,” said Martin.

“And?” asked Tony. “C'mon, Spitfire, you know my sleeping patterns don't conform to normal standards, that's totally not a problem for me. I'll get to you in the morning, we can have lunch with your family, I can try and prove to your brother that he's wrong, then we can- I don't know. Play board games or whatever it is families do at Christmas.”

Martin glanced back in the window. “They're playing Monopoly right now,” he said. He took a deep breath. He should say no, he should tell Tony to stay where he was and have fun with his friends, but he really didn't want to. He wanted to have the anticipation of seeing Tony tomorrow to help him get through the rest of today.

“I can bring your present over with me,” said Tony. “I'll get to see your face when I give it to you. Come on, please, let me come over. I promise not to, I don't know, get drunk and hit on your sister.”

Martin let out a laugh. “I probably wouldn't mind, as long as it was my sister and not my mum.”

“So I can come?” asked Tony. He sounded breathless with anticipation, as if Martin were the one giving him the treat rather than the other way around.

Martin let himself give in to what it seemed they both wanted. “Yes. If you're sure you don't mind, please- I'd really appreciate it if you did.”

“Excellent!” said Tony, with obvious delight. “I'll tell Jarvis to set a wake-up call.”

“Thank you,” said Martin, feeling overwhelmed with affection. Those three words hovered on his tongue again, but he swallowed them down, unsaid.

“Oh no,” said Tony. “Thank you. By tomorrow, everyone's going to have buggered off back to the day-to-day routine of superheroing, and I'll be left clearing up the wrapping paper. You're saving me from boredom.”

“You wouldn't be clearing up the wrapping paper,” said Martin. “You'd be either manipulating Steve into doing it or building a robot to do it for you. Both of which would take at least twice as long as just doing it yourself.”

“Yeah, but they'd totally be more fun,” said Tony. “But not as much fun as seeing you, obviously, there's no fun like that kind of fun. Even if this does also involve meeting your family, oh man, I don't think I've met the family of someone I've been dating since....uh....since high school. Maybe. Does accidentally driving a Ferrari F40 into someone's conservatory count as meeting them?”

“No,” said Martin. “Please, Tony, don't damage my mum's house.”

“Hey, come on, as if I would. I'm not a crazy teenage anymore.”

“No,” said Martin. “You're a crazy adult, with access to far more destructive power.”

“Which I only use in the service of good,” said Tony. “I don't think destroying my boyfriend's mum's house would fall into that category, somehow.”

“Definitely not,” said Martin.

The back door opened and Caitlin popped her head out. “Martin? What are you doing out here? It's freezing.”

“I'm just talking to Tony,” he said.

“Oh right,” she said. “Well, Mum's decided we're all going for a walk through Holt Copse. You're not escaping by hiding in the garden.”

“I'm be in soon,” said Martin. She nodded and disappeared, and he let out a sigh. “Family Christmas traditions beckon, I'm afraid.”

“That's cool,” said Tony. “I should probably go and make sure that Thor hasn't set fire to the Christmas tree or anything. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yes,” said Martin, smiling at the thought of it. “I- Thank you, Tony. I really appreciate it.”

“Save your appreciation for after I've managed to spend time with your family without fucking it up.”

“It wouldn't matter if you did,” said Martin. “Like you said, it doesn't matter what they think. I'm going to be pleased to see you whatever happens. I always am.”

_I love you,_ he thought again. He wondered how long he would be able to keep that buttoned in before he let it slip out.

“Yeah, me too, Spitfire,” said Tony. “See you tomorrow.”

He hung up without waiting for a response. Martin headed inside, wondering what the best way was to tell Mum that she was having a billionaire superhero who was dating her son over for lunch tomorrow. There probably wasn't one.

****

Martin waited until they were halfway through the wood and the boys had rushed off ahead to hit at trees with sticks before clearing his throat and saying, “Mum, I hope you don't mind. I asked Tony to come to lunch tomorrow.”

“Oh,” said Mum, “Martin, - I don't - it's a bit short notice.”

“I know,” said Martin. “Sorry. There's plenty of food, though, and the boys will be gone so it'll be less crowded.”

“Christmas is meant to be for family, Martin,” said Simon, with deep disapproval.

Martin bit his tongue on his immediate response, which was that Simon's girlfriend had been perfectly welcome two years ago, before they'd broken up with a lot of acrimony and accusations of cheating on both sides. “Tony doesn't have any family,” he said instead. “He was going to be spending tomorrow on his own. I thought it would be a good chance for you guys to meet him. He's not like the papers make him sound, you know. Well, not all the time,” he added, because some things the papers got spot on.

“Oh, Martin,” sighed Mum. “I suppose if you've already asked him.”

“Thanks, Mum,” said Martin, and gave her a sideways, one-armed hug. “You'll like him, I promise.”

“The boys are going to be heartbroken that they'll miss him,” said Caitlin. She gave a malicious smirk. “It's going to make going to their father's really disappointing.”

“That's not nice, dear,” said Mum. “I'm sure seeing their father will mean more to them than meeting some American, especially at Christmas.”

“Oh Mum,” said Caitlin with exasperated affection. “You don't understand children these days at all.”

****

 

It was decided that it might be better not to tell the boys until after Tony had been and gone, in order to avoid an epic meltdown. As it was, Davie still found time to throw a sulk over not being allowed to bring his stick home from the wood that continued until supper time, when Harry threw a tantrum over being made to put his new computer game down for long enough to eat. Martin was extremely relieved when they were both packed off to bed. 

Of course, then he had to try and talk Mum down from her ever-increasing panic that they were somehow going to run out of food before lunch tomorrow, or Tony was going to be horrified by the fact that the house was covered in the detritus of four adults and two children spending hours desperately trying to enjoy spending time together. He and Caitlin got her sat in a chair with a glass of sherry, _Top Hat_ showing on the TV, and a promise that everything was going to be fine.

Simon just sat, sulking in a slightly more dignified way than Davie had, and occasionally interjecting bitter comments about celebrities gate-crashing other people's Christmases. Martin did his best to ignore him.

It wasn't until they were getting ready for bed that Martin lost his temper.

“I suppose tomorrow night I'll be in the bunk beds,” said Simon. “Do try to keep the noise down, won't you? The last thing Mum needs is to hear some sort of gay porno going on under her roof.”

“Oh, for god's sake,” snapped Martin. “Do you really think I'd have sex in the same house as Mum?”

Simon gave a shrug. “I can't imagine that Tony Stark flies thousands of miles and then lets himself get cockblocked.”

“He's not coming for the sex,” snapped Martin. “He's coming because he wants to see me, because it's Christmas and he wants to be with his boyfriend.”

It was only as he said it that he realised just how true it was. Tony Stark was flying in his Iron Man suit for hours across the Atlantic, despite how uncomfortable and dull that would probably be, in order to have lunch with three people he didn't know, at least two of whom didn't want him to be there, and the only reason he was doing that was because he wanted to see Martin. It seemed incredibly surreal.

Simon snorted. “Right,” he said, disbelievingly. “And, what? You and him only hold hands and cuddle? You expect me to believe that Tony Stark doesn't have a whole repertoire of kinky shit that his boyfriends are expected to join in with?”

“Yes,” said Martin. “For one thing, he doesn't have boyfriends. He doesn't usually have relationships. I'm different.” God knew why, but he couldn't deny it to himself. Tony definitely saw something in Martin that made him care in a way that none of the supermodels that he'd had flings with had managed.

Simon snorted. “Or at least that's what he told you.”

Martin took a deep breath. “Look, Simon, you may believe that there is nothing about me interesting or, or, nice enough to make someone want to be in a relationship, but Tony does. So, just...shut up.”

“Oh, that's eloquent,” muttered Simon, but he did shut up after that.

Martin slipped into bed with his phone clutched in his hand.

_I'm so glad you're coming tomorrow,_ he typed. _Thank you._

The phone pinged with a reply less than a minute later.

_Nowhere else I'd rather be, Spitfire. Good night._

****

Martin was never sure how to act towards Gavin. On the one hand, he was Caitlin's evil ex-husband who left her for a floosie, and obviously that meant he was the devil. On the other, Martin had spent over ten years being friendly with the man at various family events and had always found him to be an okay bloke. It wasn't as being married to Caitlin would have been all joy and roses, after all. There were usually two sides to a relationship breakdown.

When Gavin rang the doorbell to collect Davie and James, Martin opened it, smiled, and then felt guilty about it in case Caitlin had seen and considered it a betrayal.

"Oh, hello Martin," said Gavin. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," returned Martin.

"Boys! Your father is here! Get your stuff together!" shouted Caitlin in the background. Thumping feet went up the stairs to the boys' bedroom.

"Have you had a good one?" asked Gavin, sounding just as awkward as Martin felt.

"Yes, thanks," lied Martin. "You?"

"Oh yes. Bit of a quiet one, but that's sometimes quite nice. It'll stop being quiet once the boys get home, of course."

“Right, yes,” said Martin. There was a pause and Martin panicked over how he should fill it. Ask about Gavin's fiancée? No, Caitlin would eviscerate him if she heard Martin mention her name. Besides which, Martin wasn't entirely sure he could remember what her name was. Bethany? Beverley? Caitlin only ever referred to her as 'the witch-faced troll.'

“I saw you on TV the other day,” said Gavin.

Martin's thought process came to a screeching halt. “What?”

“On some awful gossip show that Belinda's mother insisted on watching,” said Gavin.

Belinda, that was it. 

“Oh, right,” said Martin. He racked his brains to work out which clip of him and Tony a gossip show might have put on a few days ago, and drew a blank. He and Tony hadn't really done anything public in the last couple of weeks.

“I wasn't really sure it was you, thought I must be mistaken, but then the interviewer said your name,” added Gavin.

“Interviewer?” repeated Martin. “I don't- sorry, I don't know what you were watching. There was an interviewer?”

“It was some crap thing about celebrities at Christmas,” said Gavin. “There was a clip of some interview Tony Stark did when they asked him if you guys were spending it together. They showed you and him at some fancy party at the Taj Mahal.”

“Oh,” said Martin, trying to get his head around that. They asked Tony about him in interviews? Well, okay, he supposed he could have guessed that, but the concept still seemed very strange. “What did Tony say?”

Gavin grinned. “Right, being Tony Stark's boyfriend means so much press you don't get to see all the clips? So high-flying, Martin, I'm impressed.”

Martin gave a bit of a shrug. The truth was that he didn't really want to see all the media attention that was turned on Tony and, by extension, himself. Apart from anything else, so much of it was just so wrong that it made him furious. Tony was nothing like the person that those sorts of rubbish celebrity shows portrayed him as.

“Let's think,” said Gavin, his eyes losing their focus as he tried to remember, “I believe it went something like...” He put on a terrible, over-the-top American accent. “'Jesus, you guys are almost as obsessed with Martin as I am. No, I'm not spending Christmas with him: take it from me, when people say long-distance relationships suck, they're not kidding. He's got family stuff going on and I've got a building full of superheroes to wrangle.'”

Martin snorted. “I think most of the Avengers are usually trying to wrangle him, not the other way around. Especially Steve.”

Gavin let out a disbelieving laugh. “Never thought I'd hear Martin Crieff casually calling Captain America 'Steve'.”

Two sets of pounding feet came down the stairs and Davie and James appeared, clutching their belongings. Davie ran straight at his father and caught him in a hug around his waist.

Martin moved back out of the way so that Mum could say goodbye to her grandsons and Caitlin could scowl at their father. Simon was in the sitting room, trying to pile some of the clutter that filled the room into the corners. Martin looked at the unwrapped presents, empty mugs and boxes of chocolates that scattered the room, sighed, and started to help him.

“Worried your boyfriend might be disappointed that it's not a mansion with maid service?” asked Simon.

Martin felt his anger flare up and stamped down on it. “Not really,” he said, and took his handfuls of empty mugs into the kitchen.

Mum was in there, staring into the fridge with a look of panic. She looked up as Martin came in. “Oh, don't worry about those,” she said. “Put them by the sink; I'll wash them in a minute.”

“I was just going to put them in the dishwasher,” said Martin, opening it to do just that.

“Oh no, darling, I can do that,” said Mum. “You go and relax.”

Martin resolutely ignored her. “Do you need any help with lunch?”

“No, no, it'll be fine,” said Mum. She looked back at the fridge, wringing her hands. “There's the ham, and leftover turkey, and I've got some nice bread and salad and the trifle to finish. Or mince pies, if people don't like trifle.”

“Sounds good.”

“I just hope there's enough,” said Mum. “Oh dear, Martin, I do think it would be better if-” She broke off without finishing the sentence, not that she needed to. “I only have two puddings,” she said, in deep, mournful tones.

“I'm sure that will be more than enough,” said Martin. “Tony won't care. Look, if it's too much fuss for you, we can always just go back to mine for lunch.”

Mum turned deeply betrayed eyes on him. “You can't leave on Boxing Day!”

“Then the food we have will have to do,” said Martin.

Mum looked back at the fridge and sighed.

****

Tony called before he arrived. “JARVIS thinks I'm two minutes away,” he said. “Come outside so I know I'm landing in the right road?”

Martin was on his feet before Tony had finished the sentence. “I'm coming.”

Outside, he could see the shape of Iron Man overhead, diving down towards them. He raised an arm to wave, then stepped back as Tony reversed himself to come down feet-first in front of him.

“Spitfire!” he said, through the mask.

The minute his repulsors were off, Martin started forward to engulf him in a hug. He couldn't remember ever being more relieved to see someone.

Tony's mask flipped up, revealing his face, and Martin pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Okay, great,” said Tony, hugging him back. “I'm super-pleased to see you too, obviously, just, you know, your family are watching, as well as half the street, and if I'm going to be hugging you I'd prefer not to be wearing the armour for it. You don't get the same kind of squishiness, you know.”

“Right,” said Martin, pulling away. “Sorry.”

“Oh hey, no,” said Tony. “Never be sorry for that kind of enthusiasm.”

Martin's family were hovering in the doorway, watching them. Martin felt a wash of embarrassment that his relief at seeing Tony had been watched. “Um,” he said, wondering if he should be introducing people. They all knew who Tony was though, and it wasn't as if Tony couldn't guess which of his family members was which.

Tony poked him in the back, then stepped forward with a gauntleted hand held out. “Hi, I'm Tony,” he said. “It's awesome to meet you guys. You must be Simon.”

Simon looked down at the metal hand with a grimace that clearly said he was expecting it to crush his fingers if he shook it.

“Oh, right,” said Tony, pulling his hand away. “I forgot most people aren't used to the suit. Gimme a sec, I'll just-”

There was a whirring noise and it folded off him, down into the shape of a suitcase. Underneath, he was wearing the most obnoxious Christmas jumper that Martin had ever seen, featuring all the members of the Avengers dressed in either Santa suits, elf costumes, or...was Thor dressed as a reindeer? It was the most dressed down Martin could remember seeing him when he wasn't either relaxing in bed or tinkering in his lab.

“Better?” asked Tony, holding his hand out to Simon.

Simon shook it with a mumbled, “Good to meet you,” that didn't sound entirely convincing.

“I'm Caitlin,” said Caitlin, taking Tony's hand as soon as Simon had stepped away, clearly trying to make up for his lukewarm response. “Pleased to meet you. I love the jumper.”

Tony glanced down at it then beamed at her. “Thanks! Pepper gave it to me: I think she thought it was a gag gift I'd never wear, so I'm mainly just in it to prove her wrong. And, you know, in the festive spirit, full of the joy of the holidays, and all that shizzle.”

He turned to Mum. “And you must be Mrs. Crieff.”

“Oh please, call me Wendy,” said Mum, automatically. She looked shell-shocked, as if most of her brain was still trying to process what was going on. Martin remembered that she hadn't known who Tony was when Martin first mentioned him and wondered if she'd ever made an effort to find out. If she hadn't, then the flying suit of armour must have been a bit of a surprise.

Tony's response was drowned out by a loud booming noise.

“Nobody move!” echoed a robotic voice.

Martin looked up to see a circle of green-cloaked robots hovering overhead, weapons pointed down at them. Fear thudded into him and he made what in hindsight would probably be an embarrassingly high-pitched exclamation of terror.

“Ah, crap,” said Tony, and he stepped towards his suitcase.

“That includes you, Stark. Unless you want to see your boyfriend's guts smeared across the road.”

Martin whimpered again.

Tony stopped moving, his hands clenching into fists. “Ah, come on now, it's Christmas! Can't you give me a break?”


	2. Chapter 2

The circle of robots slowly descended to land on the tarmac surrounding Tony, Martin and his family, weapons pointed at them. As Martin edged towards Tony in fear, one of them stepped forward and Martin realised he was a man wearing a metal mask. A man who Martin recognised all too well from various news reports which had featured explosions, screaming and the occasional lightning storm. 

Oh god, Doctor Doom was in Wokingham. 

Martin threw a frantic glance at his family. Mum looked thoroughly confused, Caitlin equal parts furious and terrified, and Simon was still glaring at Tony as if he hadn't caught up with current events.

“Did you bring friends?” asked Mum. “Oh dear, there really isn't going to be enough ham.”

“Don't worry,” intoned Doctor Doom in malicious tones. “Doom will be doing the catering at this party!”

“Leave them alone,” said Tony. “Come on, you don't care about these guys. If you've got a beef, it's with me, so let's just-”

“Wrong!” snarled Doctor Doom. “You care about these people, and therefore so does Doom. You can't think I would be stupid enough to kidnap Tony Stark without bringing along some insurance? Make one wrong move and I will crush your boyfriend's bones to powder!”

_Oh god oh god oh god_ they were being kidnapped by a supervillain. They were all going to die painfully and Simon was going to blame Martin for having the wrong boyfriend and _oh god_ Martin didn't want any crushed bones. He whimpered again.

Tony glanced at him, looked back at Doctor Doom and spread his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender. “Fine,” he snapped. “You're going to end up regretting this. If you think I get pissed when it’s just me being kidnapped, you won't believe what I'll do if you lay a finger on Martin.”

Doctor Doom just laughed. “Bring the in-laws as well,” he said to his robots. “The more collateral, the better.”

A metal plate descended form the sky and Martin looked up to see an enormous craft hovering above them, half airship, half space craft and, for some reason, bright red. The Doombots herded everyone onto the metal plate and it slowly started to ascend. 

“Oh dear, I'm not a fan of heights,” said Mum. “Maybe you children could go, and I'll just get lunch ready for when you get back?”

“Doom demands your presence!” intoned Doctor Doom.

“Oh well, if you insist,” said Mum, uncertainly.

Tony stepped closer to Martin, putting his arm around him.

“Don't worry,” he said quietly. “I'll get us out of this, I promise.”

Martin stared at him. “Evil robots!” he stuttered. “They've got my mum!”

Tony's arm tightened. “Yeah,” he said. “I'm going to rip Doom apart.”

_We've got Iron Man on our side,_ Martin told himself in an attempt to calm down. _Tony always gets out of these kinds of situations okay. And the other Avengers will come and rescue us if he needs help, we'll be fine._

“Blow up Iron Man's armour!” Doctor Doom commanded one of the robots, who aimed his weapon down at the Iron Man suit, which was still in the street below them. It sent a white-hot streak of lightning at it. It melted down into a miss-shapen lump of metal.

“Oh, come on!” complained Tony. “Do you know how long it takes to build a new one of those?”

“There is no need to fear the lost hours. You will have other things to occupy you,” said Doctor Doom as the metal plate ascended up into the bottom of the ship, and hold doors slid shut behind them. “I am not interested in leaving your toys around to signal to the Avengers where you are. And in case you were relying on the emergency beacon that you no doubt carry, you should be aware that Doom has perfected a signal dampener that prevents anything being detected, even with the signal booster that the Avengers use. Your feeble technology is no match for my might!”

Tony gritted his teeth. “Yeah, great, okay. You're very clever. I get it.”

“Clearly cleverer than the man who got his boyfriend's family kidnapped the first time he met them,” hissed Simon.

Mum had finally caught on to what was going on. She looked almost as terrified as Martin felt. “I've left the ham out,” she said. “Oh dear, I hope we get back before it goes off.”

“Mum, I don't think the ham is really what we should be focusing on right now,” said Caitlin.

“No, I know,” said Mum. “I just- Oh dear. I suppose we should just be glad that the boys are at their father's.”

“Yeah,” agreed Caitlin. “First time I've ever been glad of that.”

The flight lasted a couple of hours, which was long enough for Martin to swallow back some of his mind-numbing terror and actually pay attention to the aircraft they were in.

“I don't recognise this type of craft.”

Tony snorted a laugh. “Only you could sound so horrified about that,” he said. “Chill, there's no reason you should. There's only one in the world, and it mainly flies to and from Latveria – I'm guessing MJN Air never made a stop there.”

“It's got some interesting features,” said Martin, looking around.

“Well, yeah,” said Tony. “It's a supervillain's travelling command centre. It's got a whole load of weird shit, all wrapped up in the most obvious compensation for tiny-dick-syndrome that I've ever seen. What it doesn't have is any real style, or tech that isn't just a rip-off of stuff Reed Richards designed in primary school.”

He raised his voice towards the end of the sentence and was rewarded with Doctor Doom's attention.

“Doom's designs go far beyond anything Reed Richards could even begin to conceive of!” he hissed.

Tony sniggered. “Right,” he said. “That's why he belongs to the second-best superhero troop in the world, and you're bottled up in Latveria with no friends who aren't evil nutjobs.”

Doctor Doom shot a glare at him through his mask. “I would hold my tongue, Stark, unless you want my Doombots to start causing pain!”

Tony clenched his jaw with obvious annoyance, but kept his mouth shut after that.

When the plane finally landed, the Doombots surrounded them as they walked out into the courtyard of a massive Eastern European castle. Martin looked around at the turrets and battlements that surrounded them and felt as if the stone walls were leaning in, trapping them with this madman and his robot army.

“Oh,” said Mum. “This is rather nice. Reminds me of the holiday your father and I took down the Danube. Look at that fountain!”

Doctor Doom's mask swivelled to look at her. “Your praise for Doom's beautiful Latveria is appreciated,” he said. “Doombots, take those three to the dungeons. Bring Tony and his boyfriend to the throne room.”

He strode off, cloak billowing. 

“He's always so dramatic,” Tony complained. “I'm sure he practices swishing his cloak, you know.”

“Tony!” hissed Martin as the Doombots marched his family off to captivity, and ushered him and Tony in another direction. “What are we going to do?!”

“Hey,” said Tony, putting his arm around Martin's waist. “You're just going to chill. I'm not going to let anything hurt you – especially not an overblown idiot like Doom. You just stay calm and let me work out the plan, okay? Seriously, I deal with this crap all the time, it's totally going to be fine.”

Martin forced himself to nod, but the truth was that he was terrified. He wasn't cut out for this kind of thing.

The throne room featured an enormous throne backed by a massive Latverian flag and no other furniture at all. Doctor Doom was already lounging in the throne when they arrived.

“Kneel before Doom!” he commanded.

Tony laughed. “Oh, hell no.”

Doom's eyes narrowed and he gestured at a Doombot. “Make that one go to his knees!” he commanded, pointing at Martin.

A heavy metal hand came down hard on Martin's shoulder and he collapsed to his knees to get away from it.

“Oh god, please don't hurt me!”

Doctor Doom laughed. “Your cries are music to Doom's ears! I should deal with the common people more often: superheroes so rarely beg for their lives.”

“Look, we both know you're only interested in me,” said Tony. “How about you let him go and we get down to business?”

“He is part of this business,” said Doctor Doom. “Don't think I am foolish enough to try and keep you here without any leverage, Stark. He and his family are here to make sure you do exactly what Doom wants.”

“And what is it you want?” asked Tony.

The Doombot's hand was still on Martin's shoulder, squeezing just tightly enough to be painful. Martin kept absolutely still, barely even breathing, in case moving triggered it to do something worse.

“It's very simple,” said Doctor Doom. “I'm learning from my mistakes. Every time I send an army of my Doombots to New York to show Richards just how superior my talents are to his, they are defeated by either his family, or the Avengers.”

“Well, yeah,” said Tony. “Stopping the bad guys is kinda what we do. What's your point?”

“I have upgraded my Doombots several times and yet been unable to defeat even one of you so-called 'heroes'. The other members of the Cabal have mocked Doom for creating little more than distractions. It is not to be born! And so, I have come for you, Tony Stark. Your skills with robotics beat even Doom's! You could create Doombots that would finally be able to defeat Richards and his cronies.”

Tony let out a disbelieving laugh. “You want me to design robots to kill my friends? No. Hell no. A world of no.”

“Break his little finger,” Doctor Doom said to the Doombot holding Martin.

“Oh god, no,” said Martin. He tried to get away, only to be held firmly down as the Doombot grabbed his wrist. “Please! Please, don't hurt me, don't hurt me, please!”

The Doombot grabbed his finger and yanked, there was a sharp crack, and Martin let out a howl of pain, tears flooding his eyes. “Oh god oh god oh god please! I'll do anything!”

“Stop it!” cried Tony, launching himself at the Doombot and trying to pull it off Martin.

“The next bone it breaks will be rather more important,” said Doctor Doom. “Bow to Doom's will!”

“I-” said Tony, and he caught Martin's eyes. Desperation creased his face. Martin wished he was more courageous and less prone to pathetic weeping at the slightest hint of pain. Tony cupped a hand around Martin's face and rubbed a thumb across his cheek. 

“Fine,” he said, then turned to Doctor Doom and repeated it. “Fine. Okay, sure, I'll do it. I'll let you join the ever-growing ranks of people stupid enough to try kidnapping Tony Stark and forcing him to make tech for them. You might want to have a quick check on how many of those other people are still around.”

Doctor Doom waved that away as unimportant. “Doom has something they didn't,” he said. “I have your scrawny little lover.”

“Yeah,” agreed Tony. “And you hurt him. That probably wasn't your smartest idea ever.” There was a chilling note in his voice that Martin hadn't ever heard before.

Doctor Doom didn't seem impressed by it. “Take the feeble wimp to the dungeon with his family,” he ordered. “Take Stark to the labs.”

The Doombot pulled Martin to his feet. “Don't- don't do anything stupid,” he managed to stutter out to Tony.

A ghost of a smirk crossed Tony's face. “Hey, you've just described ninety-five percent of what I do in a day.” He moved closer and kissed Martin, then whispered, “Seriously, I'm going to get us all out of here. Don't worry, okay?”

“I'm not worried,” lied Martin, and let himself be dragged off to the dungeons of a supervillain.

****

Mum was slumped on a narrow bed and looking dazed when Martin got pushed through the door. Caitlin and Simon were in the opposite corner, having a whispered conversation.

“Where's Stark?” asked Simon as soon as he saw Martin. “This is all his fault! What kind of a man drags an elderly woman out of her home on Boxing Day and imprisons her in a dungeon?”

Martin blinked at him. “That wasn't Tony,” he said. “That was Doctor Doom. Tony's- He's going to get us out of this.”

Simon snorted. “Oh yes, I'm sure plenty of people have been told that by so-called superheroes over the years, but do you know what the civilian casualty rate tends to be when idiots with superpowers and capes go head-to-head? This is exactly why I didn't want you going out with him!”

Martin blinked. His whole hand was throbbing with pain, Tony was being forced to design robots to kill his friends, and Martin hadn't even got to give him his Christmas present yet. The last thing he needed was Simon's anger.

“I thought you didn't want me going out with him because he's a playboy who's going to abandon me for a supermodel?”

Simon made a face. “Well, yes, that too-”

“Shut up, Simon,” said Caitlin. “Martin, do you know if Tony has some sort of plan?”

Martin shrugged. “If he doesn't yet he will soon. He's Tony Stark; this is what he does.”

“I'm not sure I understand this at all,” said Mum. “Tell me again, darling, what does your boyfriend do?”

Martin sighed and went to sit next to her on the bed. “He's an international superhero, Mum,” he said, cradling his hand. “He fights evil.”

“I see,” she said, sounding mystified. “And that sometimes involves medieval castle dungeons, does it?”

“Apparently,” said Martin.

“Oh!” said Mum, catching sight of his hand. “Your poor hand! Oh Martin, why didn't you say you were hurt? Caitlin, go and tell those guards we need to go to a hospital immediately.”

“I don't think they're going to let us do that, Mum,” said Caitlin. “We're prisoners, remember?”

Mum took Martin's hand gently in her own. “Oh dear, I suppose you're right. Still, they should have some sort of doctor available, shouldn't they? Isn't that part of some international convention on prisoner's rights? Martin, I think this is broken.”

“Yeah,” said Martin. He looked down at how swollen his finger was and had to shut his eyes at the sick sensation that caused in his stomach. “It really hurts,” he added.

“Right,” said Mum. “Well, I'm not having one of my children going without medical attention.” She stood up and went and banged loudly on the cell door. “Open up! I demand you bring me a first aid kit!”

“Mum, I really don't think that's going to work,” said Caitlin.

“How did you break your finger anyway?” asked Simon.

“Doctor Doom had one of his robots break it. He told Tony he'd break my other bones as well if he didn't do what he said.” A wave of helplessness crashed over Martin and he felt his shoulders slump. It was his fault that Tony had ended up where he was now, helping Doom create machines to hurt people.

Simon pressed his lips together. “Look, Martin-”

“Be quiet, Simon,” said Caitlin. “Don't you think we should leave this argument for after we get out of here?”

Mum turned away from the door. “I don't think we're going to get any help from these men. Let me have a look, Martin.”

Martin didn't really want anyone looking at his finger in case they got it into their heads to touch it, but he reluctantly held his hand out. Mum tutted. “Oh dear, this doesn't look good. What do we do?”

“We need to splint it,” offered Caitlin. “Or bandage it to his next finger to keep it straight, or something.”

Mum nodded. “We need bandages.”

“Bed sheets,” said Caitlin, moving towards the bed.

They tore part of the dubiously clean sheet into strips, then Martin gritted his teeth and let them bandage his broken finger to his ring finger, tears springing to his eyes at the pain of moving it.

“All done,” said Mum in a tone Martin hadn't heard since he was a small boy with a scraped knee. “Well done, Martin, you were very brave.”

“No, he wasn't,” muttered Simon. “He cried.”

Martin hugged his hand against his chest and glared at him. “Maybe I should have told the supervillain that _you_ were Tony's boyfriend.”

Simon made a disgusted face. “As if that would be believable.”

“Simon, I wish you'd be nice to poor Martin,” said Mum. “This really isn't a good time for bickering, while he's injured.”

Simon gritted his teeth. “Sorry, Mum.”

****

Hours passed without much happening. Mum tried to convince them to play Charades to keep themselves entertained, but no one was really in the mood for it. Martin wasn't sure what kind of acting he'd be able to do with his finger burning with pain, and the more time that passed, the more worried he got about Tony. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to be forced to design robots for an evil genius.

 _He said he'd get us out of here_ , he reminded himself, holding on to that. If Tony Stark said he was going to do something, he did it.

When the door eventually unlocked, Martin stood up, half-expecting it to be Tony with the other Avengers, coming to rescue them.

It was Tony, but he wasn't with the Avengers, he was being corralled by Doombots.

“Spitfire!” he said, striding over to Martin. “Hey, you okay?” He put one hand on Martin's shoulder and the other on his neck.

“Fine,” said Martin, deciding not to mention how much his finger hurt. He needed to keep hold of some dignity, after all. “How are you? He hasn't done anything bad to you, has he?”

Tony shrugged a shoulder. “Not really. Just been messing with his shitty tech.”

He looked far more drained than he should have been after a few hours' work, especially given that Martin had seen him come out of his workshop after a twenty-four hour session looking as upbeat and energetic as if he'd only just woken up. Oil was smudged on Tony's face, covered his hands, and had even splattered over his jumper. Martin put his uninjured hand on Tony's chest.

“You've ruined your new jumper,” he said.

Tony glanced down. “Yeah, Pepper's going to kill me,” he said, ruefully. “I guess it gives me an excuse not to wear it to the Stark Industries New Year's gig.”

“Have you worked out how you're going to get us out of here yet?” asked Simon. “Mum is a trifle old for sitting around in a medieval dungeon indefinitely.”

“Oh, I'm fine, really,” said Mum. Everyone ignored her.

“I'm working on it,” Tony said. “It's not as if daring escapes from a supervillain's lair are easy, especially when you've got no weapons and no back-up. The good news is that I talked Doom into providing lunch, which I'm pretty sure he wasn't going to bother with.”

The door opened again and a Doombot entered with a wooden tray of roughly-cut sandwiches and some bottles of water. It shoved the tray at Caitlin, who was nearest.

“See?” said Tony with a gesture. “Okay, so, not really gourmet, but better than nothing, yeah?”

“Thirty minutes, Stark,” the Doombot ground out, then turned and left.

“He was intending to starve us?” asked Caitlin. “Christ!”

Tony shrugged. “Probably wasn't intentional, he's a bit forgetful sometimes. I made it clear I wasn't going to keep going unless I knew you guys were all fed and watered, though.” He looked at Martin. “It's tricky concentrating on tech when I'm worrying about you. My focus is all shot.”

“You're not really building better killing machines for him, are you?” asked Martin.

Tony shrugged. “I'm just giving him some tips that anyone who isn't a moron would have worked out years ago. I mean, come on, the guy regularly goes up against the Human Torch, but has never once thought to put a fire extinguisher on his bots. It's all a bit rookie.”

“Here, Mum,” said Caitlin, handing her a sandwich. The bread looked worryingly black, and Martin wondered if this was going to be better or worse than Arthur's last attempt at cupcakes. He hadn't think anything could be worse than the weird crunchy bits in those, but he could be about to be proved wrong.

“Oh, don't worry about me, you children should eat first,” said Mum.

Martin glanced over Tony's shoulder to see Simon making the same long-suffering expression that he could feel on his own face.

“Come on, Mum-o, of course you should eat,” said Simon. “There's plenty for all of us.”

“You sure you're all right?” Tony asked Martin quietly as a discussion started up over whether or not Mum would be causing any fuss by eating lunch.

Martin nodded. “It hurts, but it's just my finger,” he said.

Tony pressed a kiss to his lips. “I hate that you got hurt,” he said. “I'm going to crush Doom, you just wait. No more waiting for Reed Richards to pull his finger out and squash the guy. He won't know what hit him.”

There was something about the low, serious voice that he made that vow in that made Martin shiver. He leaned forward to press his forehead to Tony's. “Don't do anything reckless,” he said. “I don't want you hurt either.”

Tony managed a grin. “Spitfire, have you met me? 'Reckless' is basically my lifeplan. Getting hurt isn't, though, I've got plans that I need to be a hundred percent for. Most of which involve you, some of which involve a bed.”

“Not all of them?” asked Martin, trying to copy Tony's easy, flirty tone. It wasn't as easy as Tony made it seem to be light-hearted while locked in a dungeon.

Tony shrugged. “There are a lot of other places I want to have sex with you,” he said. “Not to mention other stuff: I still haven't given you your Christmas present. I'm going to be seriously pissed if Doom ruins that for me.”

“Sandwich?” offered Caitlin. Martin twitched and then blushed, wondering just how much of that conversation had been audible to his family and then hoping he never found out.

“Um, thanks,” he said.

“I wouldn't get too excited,” said Tony, taking his own from Caitlin. “Latverian cuisine is pretty dull. I'm sure Doom would be less evil if he didn't live almost entirely off goulash.”

“I can't help thinking about that ham I left out,” said Mum. “I wish I'd had a chance to put it back in the fridge.”

“It's a tiny bit possible you're focusing on the wrong problem, Mum-o,” said Simon. He sat down on the bed beside Mum, taking the place where Martin had been sat before Tony came in. There wasn't an abundance of furniture in the cell, so Martin mentally sacrificed his trousers and sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall. A moment later, Tony sat down beside him to eat his own sandwich.

“I've got to be honest,” Tony said as he tucked in, “I always find myself worrying about the weirdest little stuff when I'm in a pickle like this one; whether or not I gave Clint the new arrows I designed for him, if I've done maintenance on Dummy recently enough for him to be okay for a bit, that kinda thing. It's easier than actually focusing on the real problem.”

“Yes, that's it exactly,” said Mum. “I'd much rather be thinking about the ham than wondering if Martin's going to get hurt more, or if they're going to do anything to my other two children. Really, Simon, it's not as if there's anything we can do to affect things either way, I might as well focus on the ham.”

“It did look like it was going to be a good ham,” said Caitlin. “Better than these sandwiches. Do you think there's sawdust in the bread?”

“It definitely tastes like it,” said Martin, examining it. “And I thought Arthur's cooking was bad.”

“Arthur's cooking _is_ bad,” said Tony. “He blew up my kitchen. Well, okay, Thor helped, probably more than helped, he seems to be around a lot when explosions happen.”

“Are we really going to sit here and talk about _cooking_?!” asked Simon with a dramatic hand gesture that made part of his sandwich disintegrate.

“Good point, cooking is dull,” said Tony. “Hey, Caitlin, I meant to say, I thought the present you got Martin was awesome. That was one of my dad's favourite ads, he used to have one framed in the corridor outside his office.”

“Oh,” said Caitlin, clearly taken aback. “Yes. I just thought it was appropriate, really.”

“Yeah,” agreed Tony. “ _Fly Higher with Stark_.” He gave Martin a grin and rested his hand on Martin's thigh. “I'm definitely hoping to fly higher with you.”

Martin thought about the feeling of weightless exhilaration that came with spending time with Tony and the warm flood that had saturated him during the hours they'd lain together in his new bed. “I think you already have.”

“Of course,” sniped Simon. “Nothing says 'flying high' more than an Eastern European dungeon.”

Tony shrugged. “Temporary glitch.”

There was a muffled boom, the room shook and dust fell from the ceiling.

“What was that?!” asked Caitlin, stepping away from the door.

“The cavalry,” said Tony with satisfaction, standing up.

Distant gunshots rang through the building, followed by another explosion.

“The Avengers?” asked Martin. “Doom said he'd blocked your emergency signal. Did you manage to get a message out from the lab?”

“Nope,” said Tony. “Come on, _I_ built those beacons. Do you think I didn't factor in signal-blocking technology? If any of the beacons are out of contact with the main hub for longer than ten minutes, an alert is triggered. The guys all knew I was going to yours and it's not like Doom's kidnapping was exactly subtle. All the neighbours were watching. Frankly, I'm surprised it took them this long to get here.”

“The neighbours?” repeated Mum. “Oh, this is going to go round the whole of the W.I. Enid Blakethorpe can be so _judging_.”

A bellowing roar echoed through the hallways.

“Sounds like Bruce got pissed that he had to come rescue me again,” said Tony.

Something near-by made a resounding crash, as if a wall had collapsed. 

“It all sounds like a bit of a fuss,” said Mum. “I hope it's not on our behalf.”

Running robot feet went past in the direction of the fight, there was more gunfire, some heavy thuds and a wild whooping noise.

“That's Clint,” said Tony. “I'm guessing he's just over-excited that he's not the one who got kidnapped this time.” He raised his voice. “Oi! Merida!! We're in here!!”

“Keep your pants on, Stark! We'll get to you!” shouted back Clint.

There was a noise like a bowling ball taking down several metal rubbish bins, another bellow, and then footsteps so heavy that they shook the room as they went past. A moment later, the door opened and Black Widow stepped inside.

“You forgot these,” she said to Tony, and tossed him a couple of bracelets.

“Fucking _finally_ ,”muttered Tony, pushing them on.

“Merry Christmas, Martin,” said Black Widow.

“Um,” said Martin. “Merry Christmas. Is it- is it safe to leave?”

She glanced back out into the corridor. “The battle has moved further away,” she said. “The Hulk will keep them busy while we get you and your family back to the jet.”

“Right,” said Caitlin. “Come on, Mum, let's go.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” asked Mum, looking worried as more gunshots sounded from outside the cell. “It might be best just to stay put, don't you think?”

Martin took a deep breath, then tapped into his knowledge of how his Mum's mind worked.

“Tony's friends have come all this way to help us,” he said. “You don't want them to have wasted the effort, do you?”

“Oh no, of course not,” said Mum, standing up. “I just don't want to be a bother.”

“You're not,” said Black Widow. “Tony is. Tony always is.”

“And proud of it,” said Tony. “Come on, Mrs. Crieff, let's get you back to your ham.”

They left the cell in a tight group with Simon and Caitlin on either side of Mum, both to protect her and keep her moving. Black Widow went on ahead and Tony hung back with Martin.

“Are those for your suit?” he asked, nodding at Tony's bracelets.

“Yep,” said Tony. “As soon as we're in open ground I'll be able to call it to me.”

Halfway down the corridor, a hole had been punched in the wall in a roughly Hulk-sized shape.

“This way,” said Black Widow, nimbly climbing up the pile of rubble.

It took slightly longer for Caitlin and Simon to get Mum up and over. Martin followed, his injured hand still cradled to his chest as he tried not to imagine how much it would hurt if he tripped and fell on it.

Halfway down, a rock moved under his foot and he nearly toppled over, but Tony was there immediately, grabbing Martin's elbow and holding him up. 

“Thanks,” said Martin.

“No probs,” said Tony. “I'm totally here to keep you upright. Wind beneath your wings and all that bull, right?”

He kept his grip as they descended into the room on the other side of the wall, which looked like a deserted guard room.

“Not far now,” said Black Widow, who was already standing at the doorway, glancing out.

Tony moved his arm around Martin's back as they hurried down another corridor and then finally out into a courtyard in which one of SHIELD's jets was waiting with a wide open door.

“Ah, excellent,” said Tony. He let go of Martin and stepped back, holding his hands up.

Bits of armour came flying out of the plane, forming around Tony into a complete suit. The final piece, the mask, slammed over his face and the eye holes lit up with red light.

“Hey guys, miss me?” he said, turning on his repulsors and shooting up to hover above the ground.

“I'll get these guys on the jet if you want to go after Doom,” said Black Widow.

Iron Man landed and the mask flipped up. “He can wait. Let's get them safe first.”

There was only about twenty metres across the courtyard to the plane but something about the way Tony said that made Martin suddenly, horribly aware of how exposed they would be in the open ground between them and that refuge.

Black Widow pressed her hand to her ear. “We're getting the civilians to the plane now,” she said, and Martin realised she must have some sort of communication device. “Right,” she said, turning back to the Crieffs. “Let's go.”

They crossed the courtyard as quickly as possible. In the distance, Martin could hear gunshots and angry bellows still echoing as the fight between the other Avengers and the Doombots raged on. He couldn't help being intensely grateful that he was far away from all that and that Tony was beside him.

Black Widow paused at the ramp into the plane and waved Mum, Caitlin and Simon inside, and Martin sped up his pace to join them.

He was too late. Something hot and bright zoomed past his face, then exploded into the cobbles in front of the ramp, sending shards of stone in all directions. Martin screamed and jumped backwards.

“Iron Man! You shall not rob me of my victory so easily!” boomed a voice, and Martin spun to see Doctor Doom standing on a roof and looking down, cloak flapping dramatically in the breeze, enormous gun in one hand.

“Oh god oh god oh god,” he heard himself say, and forced himself to shut his mouth.

Tony stepped in front of him, his mask flipping down and weapons erupting from his suit. “I'm not seeing any victory for you here, Doom. Seems like your bots are getting their asses kicked, and we're leaving without you getting more than the very beginnings of some seriously ropey mechanics. C'mon, you didn't seriously think I was actually coming up with decent designs, did you? Plus, now I know all your tech's flaws.”

Doctor Doom made an enraged noise. “Then all that is left for Doom is revenge!” he announced. “Your pathetic boyfriend will not leave Latveria alive!”

“I'm beginning to think you're jealous cos you can't get a boyfriend,” said Tony. “Oh man, this rivalry thing with Reed doesn't all stem from some stupid college crush, does it?”

He didn't want for an answer before firing his repulsors and flying straight at Doom, who retaliated by shooting his gun at Martin. A ball of fire headed straight for him and he froze in horror, desperately trying not to wet himself.

Iron Man changed his course at the last minute, darting into the path of the ball of fire and catching it full-force on his chestplate.

Black Widow grabbed Martin's arm and dragged him towards the plane. “Get behind cover!” she yelled. “When Tony's this pissed, there's always shrapnel!”

Martin couldn't take his eyes off Tony as he stumbled backwards into the plane. The fireball burnt off, leaving scorch marks but nothing that looked like real damage.

“You're going to have to try a lot harder than that, Doom,” said Tony. “Not that I'm really going to give you the chance.”

A missile fired from his arm and zeroed in on Doom, who threw himself to one side to avoid it. Where the missile landed, it blew a hole in the roof, sending tiles flying up into the sky.

Tony didn't wait for Doom to have time to regroup himself. He darted in to grab him around the neck with one gauntlet and shook him like a rag doll. He said something to him in a growl that Martin couldn't quite separate into words, then threw him backwards off the roof.

Doom crashed down to earth, but rose to his feet immediately, apparently not at all phased by the three storey fall. “You fool!You have sown the seeds of your own defeat, by putting Doom perfectly in position,” he said, then spun and pointed his gun straight at Martin, who had stayed stupidly close to the open door of the plane in order to be able to keep an eye on Tony.

Martin froze. Tony was too far away to get between Martin and the fireball this time. The only person close enough to help was Black Widow, who wasn't nearly as fire-repellent as the Iron Man suit.

Time stood still for a heartbeat and all Martin could think about was that he was about to die without having told Tony he loved him.

“Superheroes really should learn to avoid relationships,” said Doom with a sneer. His finger tightened on the trigger. Martin made a terrified, hiccuping noise, too scared to even whimper.

There was a whistling noise and an arrow hit Doom straight in the back. Lightning played over his armour and he fell face forward with a crash.

“And super-villains should learn to stop gloating,” said Hawkeye from the gateway into the courtyard. “Hey guys, did I miss anything?”

Black Widow walked over to Doom and kicked his mask off to reveal electronics. “Only the real Doom,” she said. “This is just another Doombot.”

Tony landed heavily on the cobbles and strode over to Martin. His mask flipped up to reveal that he looked just as shaken as Martin felt. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” squeaked Martin, then cleared his throat. “Totally fine. Just...fine. Fine. All fine.”

“Oh, great,” said Tony. “For a moment there I thought you were as terrified as I was.”

Martin stared into his eyes for a heartbeat and then crumpled forward into his arms, leaning his head on Iron Man's chest plate. “Oh god, I think I'm having a heart attack.”

Tony gently patted his back. “Me too,” he said. “Man, I totally owe Hawkeye a drink. Possibly an entire bar.”

“Buy me a brewery and we'll call it even,” said Clint, strolling up. “I really just popped by to let you know that Thor and Cap are wrangling Hulk in this direction, so we'll be leaving soon.”

“Let's get you on board,” said Tony to Martin.

“Right,” said Martin. Now that he was leaning on Tony, he wasn't sure he could stand on his own feet. His legs felt like jelly. He didn't move.

“Okay, awesome,” said Tony. “How about I carry you? I could sweep you up in my arms like a hero in a romance movie: that would pretty much go with the architecture.”

Part of Martin was tempted by that. The other part firmly pointed out that it wouldn't be dignified, especially not in front of Simon and Caitlin. Not to mention Mum. And the Avengers, although he was resigned to having no dignity in front of them after the incident with the Harrier jump jet boxers and the yoghurt.

He pulled himself upright and turned to stagger into the plane. Tony kept one arm around him the whole way.

When Mum saw him, she let out a noise that was almost a wail. “Oh Martin! I was so worried!”

Martin managed the pale shadow of a smile. “I'm fine, Mum.”

“That's my Spitfire,” said Tony. “Always five kinds of fine, even when he's just survived a supervillain.”

“It doesn't count as surviving until we're in the air,” said Natasha, hovering in the doorway to the plane and staring out at the courtyard as if waiting for the cobbles to come to life and attack them.

Tony rolled his eyes. “That's the little Russian optimist we all love.”

Natasha stilled and turned to fix him with a terrifying look. “'Little'?”

Tony held his hands up. “Not little, nope, just, you know, smaller of stature than most people. Who are all just freakishly over-grown and don't count, obviously.”

Natasha turned back to looking out of the plane. “Obviously,” she said. “And that's why you have lifts in your shoes.”

Tony shrugged. “They help me reach top shelves.”

Natasha straightened. “Here they come.”

“I'll get us in the air,” said Clint, heading for the cockpit. 

Martin told himself very firmly that it was perfectly okay for them to take off without a walk-around given that they were being attacked by killer robots. Part of him wasn't quite convinced. It was _procedure_.

The Hulk had turned back into Bruce and was unconscious and naked in Thor's arms. Martin turned his eyes away, embarrassed to be looking at a naked man in front of his mum and his boyfriend, only to catch Caitlin giving Bruce a very obvious once-over.

Captain America darted on-board a moment later, closing the door behind him. “Time to go!” he called.

“On it!” Clint bellowed back. The jet's engines roared into life and they took off. Martin wished, more than anything, that there was a window so he could watch to see just what angle this plane was capable of taking off at. It must be a pretty sharp one, given the size of the courtyard they'd been in.

“Here, come up to the cockpit with me,” said Tony to Martin as Thor set Bruce down on a chair and covered him with a blanket. “You'll want to see this.”

Martin somehow found the strength to stand up in order to follow him.

The view from the front window was impressive. They'd left Doom's castle behind and were flying over what must have been the capital city of Latveria but looked more like a set from an historically-inaccurate film about a 1930s market town.

“Swing back round,” Tony said to Clint. “Give us a good view of this.”

“We're meant to be flying _away_ from the danger, not towards it,” said Clint, but he was already doing as Tony said, circling the plane so that they had a view of Doom's castle, perched on top of a hill.

“Wait for it,” said Tony. “Wait for it...3...2...1...NOW!”

A building right in the centre of the castle exploded, the roof lifting off as a fireball erupted out from under it.

“POW!” said Tony, grinning. “That's what you get when you mess with my boyfriend, fuckhead!!”

“When did you set that up?” asked Martin, staring at the thick plume of smoke heading up into the sky.

Tony shrugged. “That was his robot workshop. Which he let me loose in, the fool. When will people learn that that just leads to stuff blowing up?”

“Can we head home now, or have you set the whole town to combust?” asked Clint.

Tony brought an armour-clad hand down on Clint's shoulder with what looked like a bit too much force. “All done,” he said cheerfully. “Take us back to Crieff-land. I'm going to get this armour off.”

He pressed a kiss to Martin's lips, then headed back into the main cabin.

Martin hesitated. He didn't really want to return to the cabin with its terrifying mix of Avengers and his family, especially not when the other choice was the cockpit of one of the most advanced planes on the planet.

“You wanna park yourself in the co-pilot's chair?” asked Clint.

“Would you mind?” asked Martin.

“God, no,” said Clint. “Do you know what happens after every mission like this one? Everyone else hangs out in the back, napping and relaxing after the fight, and I have to sit up here alone, concentrating on flying. I'd be more than glad of the company.”

Martin slid into the co-pilot's seat, trying to act nonchalant while inside he was fizzing with excitement. The co-pilot's seat! On a SHIELD jet!!

“How's your finger?” asked Clint.

Martin shrugged, too busy staring at the controls to even feel the pain from his finger. “It's fine.”

“Right,” said Clint. “Broken fingers are a bitch, seriously. It's such a tiny thing that you can't really get away with whining about it, but on the other hand, it makes everything you want to do tricky as hell. I hate them. Only things worse are broken ribs.”

Martin shrugged. “I wouldn't know,” he said, craning his neck to study the wings. The winglets weren't as advanced as Tony's would have been. “It's my first broken bone.”

There was a shocked pause. “Seriously?” said Clint. “Christ! I can't remember mine, I'd have been a tiny kid.”

Martin shrugged. “I've always been careful,” he said. He paused to consider that, thinking about all the people he'd known who'd broken bones growing up while doing something reckless, stupid and fun. “Possibly too careful,” he admitted.

Clint's eyebrows rose. “Well, you clearly stopped that trend when you got together with Tony,” he said. “Can't think of anything more reckless than dating an Avenger.”

Martin twitched, thinking about how Mum had looked, sitting in a super-villain's dungeon.

“Uh, that was kinda tactless,” said Clint. “Pretend I didn't say it.”

Martin took a deep breath and let it out, then shook his head. “It's fine,” he said. “I do know that it's true. It's just- well. I'd rather take the risk than just be _safe_ and- and not with him.”

Clint looked thoughtful as he pulled the plane up a bit higher. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I mean, it's not like you should trust my opinion when it comes to dangerous stunts and relationships that are bad ideas, and definitely not when the two are combined, but I think you have to take the rough with the smooth. Take the Doctor Doom with the chilling in a billionaire's penthouse.”

Martin thought back to the fear in Tony's eyes as the Doombot had broken Martin's finger and contrasted it with the warm, sleepy smile Tony had given him as they'd relaxed in bed together, and weighed them against each other. He thought he could put up with the first if it meant he got the second.

“Here, you want to take the wheel for a bit?” asked Clint.

All thoughts of Tony disappeared in an instant as Martin stared at him. “Oh god, could I?” he said. “I mean, seriously, _could_ I? I've never flown anything like this, I wouldn't know where to start, well, no, obviously I'd know where to _start_ , I am a professional pilot, it's just-”

“You have control,” interrupted Clint cheerfully, taking his hands off the control column.

Martin's hands instinctively jerked out to take the controls in front of him. “Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.”

“Nothing to it,” said Clint. “It's so advanced it basically flies itself.”

Martin clung to the column with his good hand and curled two fingers around it with his other hand, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Just don't hit any of the buttons in this part of the panel,” said Clint with a casual gesture. “Or you'll rain fire and destruction down on the Hungarian countryside.”

Terror surged through Martin's veins at the same time as a fizzy feeling of exaltation settled into his stomach. He was flying the Avengers home from a mission in a SHIELD jet! How many other people could ever claim to have done that? Certainly Douglas couldn't, and neither could any of his old Air England pals.

“Oh, we're being flown by my favourite pilot,” said Tony, coming up behind him. Martin didn't tear his eyes away from the sky to glance around at him but after a moment or two, hands settled onto his shoulders and he felt himself relax. Well, relax a bit. “Awesome. Only better if we were in a plane I'd designed.”

“Then you should hurry up and design us a plane already,” said Clint. “One with a hot tub, so we can chill on these trips. And maybe sexy flight attendants.”

“I'm working on it,” said Tony. “Might make it a bit more practical than a flying brothel, though. Y'know, in the interests of persuading Fury to help fund it. He never seems to go for the proposals that involve scantily-clad chicks.”

Clint let out a sigh. “The man just has no sense of how to boost morale.”

****

Clint let Martin fly most of the way back, which was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to him. Other than meeting Tony, of course, but it was a close thing. Clint only took the controls back when it came time to land, which was when Martin was able to pay enough attention to something that wasn't flying to realise that Tony had changed into a whole new outfit. He supposed it made sense for him to keep a clean suit on-board, but it was a bit jarring after the memory of the oil-splattered Christmas jumper.

Tony caught his look. “Yeah,” he said ruefully. “That jumper was toast. No idea what Pepper's going to say. Well, no, I know exactly what she'll say, she'll sigh and tell me this is why she doesn't get me nice things.”

Clint set the plane down in the car park of the Bracknell Urgent Care Centre as if it was completely normal for someone to turn up to get treatment for a broken finger in a jet filled with superheroes. Two teenagers leaving the centre, one of them leaning on a crutch, stopped to stare as Martin and Tony disembarked.

“Oh Martin, are you sure you don't want me to come with you?” asked Mum.

“It's only going to be a lot of waiting around,” said Martin. “The Avengers will give you a lift home before they go back to New York. You can have a cup of tea.”

“We can sort out the ham, Mum,” added Caitlin.

“Oh yes,” said Mum. “I do hope it's okay. How long has it been out now?”

“The one in your kitchen?” asked Bruce, who had woken up somewhere over Germany. “I put it back in the fridge when we stopped at yours to find out what had happened.”

Mum turned to him with eyes so full of gratitude that Martin thought she was going to start crying. “You saved my ham? Oh, how kind of you!”

Bruce shrugged. “It seemed a shame to leave it out.”

“There you are then, Mum,” said Simon. “We can go back and have some tea, and try and get over this whole terrifying incident, and then we can have dinner once Martin is patched up.”

“Yes, that sounds nice,” said Mum. She pressed a hand to Martin's cheek. “We'll see you when you've been treated, darling, if you're sure you'll be okay.”

“It's cool,” said Tony. “I'll be with him to keep him entertained in the waiting room. Oh Martin, we should totally play Charades. I still haven't seen your crazy acting skills for myself.”

“Not in public,” said Martin firmly.

Tony sighed. “Seriously, that's your rule on too many things.”

****

They were at the Urgent Care Centre for less time than Martin had feared, although longer than he wanted to be. It also turned out that sitting around on hard plastic chairs in hospital waiting rooms with Tony Stark meant that half the hospital found the need to wander through and say hello. Tony ended up signing enough autographs that Martin began to worry that he was going to injure his hand as well.

When Martin finally saw a doctor, there were a worrying few minutes during which she debated rebreaking his finger before setting it. He couldn't imagine anything worse. When she eventually decided just to splint it as it was, his sigh of relief was obvious enough to gain him an amused smile. Martin ignored it with as much dignity as he could manage.

“Man, I totally should have got you an Iron Man plaster to put on that,” said Tony when Martin came out all bandaged up. “We've got a bunch of Avengers ones on the jet. Marketing decided they were a great idea, and Clint insisted that we use them every time we get scraped up.”

He gently took Martin's hand as he spoke, examining it carefully as if making sure the doctor had done her job properly.

“Is there any tacky merchandise your Marketing department hasn't come up with?” asked Martin.

“Nope,” said Tony. “Oh, wait, hang on. They hadn't thought of marketing Iron Man irons until I accidentally mentioned them. That's totally your fault, by the way, I hope you realise you're getting one as soon as they begin production.” He bent over Martin's hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it while Martin was still contemplating the level of mocking that he would get from Douglas for that. “There, kissed it better,” said Tony. “That's the correct boyfriend behaviour, right?”

“So I've heard,” said Martin. “I'm not exactly an expert.”

Tony smiled at him. “Not what I'd say,” he said. “Perfect boyfriend. Especially the bit where I got you kidnapped by a supervillain who broke your finger, and yet you haven't yelled at me yet.”

Martin frowned. “Why would I yell at you?”

Tony shrugged. “People do,” he said. “I mean, it wouldn't have happened if you weren't with me.”

“Lots of things wouldn't have happened if I weren't with you,” said Martin. “I wouldn't have flown a SHIELD jet or had someone to go to Duxford with. I wouldn't have been to the Taj Mahal, or the Avengers Tower. Or got a salary and my own flat.” 

Tony's smile had relaxed into something wider, something that made Martin realise that he had been stupid for worrying about this. He remembered how it had felt to think he was going to die, and the only real regret he had had. 

He leaned forward and kissed Tony, took a deep breath and then said, in the steadiest voice he could manage, “I wouldn't be able to kiss the man I lo-love in a hospital waiting area.”

Tony stilled and Martin began to panic that he'd been wrong and this was too early in the relationship for that kind of deceleration. Oh god, what if Tony didn't want love to be involved at all? Just because they were serious didn't mean they were _that_ serious, what if he'd messed everything up?

Tony let out a long breath. “Jesus, Martin,” he said. “I don't- Yeah, okay.” He leaned in and kissed Martin, which calmed at least fifty percent of Martin's panic. “You're right. Kissing the man you love in a hospital waiting area is totally worth being kidnapped by a supervillain.”

A flush of warmth spread through Martin's body as he realised what Tony was saying and he started to grin rather foolishly at him.

“Come on,” said Tony, putting an arm around Martin's shoulders. “Let's go back to your mum's and disgust your brother by being sickeningly in love.”

Martin put his arm around Tony's waist as they headed outside to find a taxi. “That seems like a great idea.”

“Plus,” added Tony, “I've really built up a lot of anticipation about this ham now.”

“There's also cold turkey.”

“Fantastic,” said Tony, with enough enthusiasm to rival Arthur. “Looking forward to it.”

****

They got through far more food at dinner than Martin had thought they would the night before, when he was stacking the fridge, probably helped by the fact that they hadn't had much more than a vile Latverian sandwich the whole day. For a brief moment, Martin thought Mum's fears that they'd run out of food might be justified but then she bought out the Christmas cake, the mince pies and the trifle, and he realised his error.

Tony ate a heroic amount. “This is incredible,” he said, halfway through his second slice of cake. “I can't believe you made this yourself.”

“Oh, it's not that tricky,” said Mum, looking touched by the compliment. “The secret is plenty of brandy.”

“I'm so awed by people who can bake,” said Tony. “All I can do in a kitchen is make coffee.”

“It's just practice,” said Mum. “Would you like another slice?”

Tony looked as if he was seriously considering it, then reluctantly shook his head. “If I have any more, I'm likely to go pop. It was excellent though, seriously.”

Mum smiled at him and Martin wondered just how Tony was able to charm people so easily when all Martin was able to manage was panicked incoherence when faced with someone he wanted to impress.

They moved back into the sitting room while Mum fussed over making tea and coffee. Tony settled close beside Martin on the sofa and Martin found himself leaning in, reassuring himself with Tony's presence after the stress of the day. Tony put his hand on Martin's knee and gave a little squeeze. Martin caught his eye and saw the same emotions he was feeling reflected back at him. He couldn't keep himself from smiling, especially when he remembered that Tony had as good as said he loved Martin. He'd strongly implied it, at any rate.

Tony returned his smile with a lop-sided version of his own. “You ready for your Christmas present now?”

Martin blinked. He'd completely forgotten they still hadn't exchanged presents. “Yes, okay,” he said. “Let me just get yours, hang on.”

He levered himself up out of his seat, wondering why he ached so much when he'd spent most of the day either sitting in an aeroplane or a prison cell. 

Tony's present was in his van even though Martin hadn't been expecting to see Tony over Christmas. He'd spent enough time changing his plans at the last minute because Carolyn had changed MJN's schedule yet again to have learnt to be prepared for anything. Now that MJN was subcontracting for Stark Industries, they were flying to New York far more often than they had before, often without much notice.

He retrieved the present from his glove box then went back inside, wondering if it might not be a better idea to slip off somewhere private with Tony to do this. He wasn't sure he wanted his family watching as he exchanged presents with his boyfriend.

“Yeah, okay, I get you're just looking out for Martin,” he heard Tony say through the door. “You're missing the point though, which is that I've spent long enough hopping into bed with every hot chick I meet and, I mean, it was great, seriously, freaking awesome at certain points, but I've done that now. Time to move on. And Martin's who I want to move on with: there's not been anyone else I've wanted to stay with for longer than a week or two.”

“And how long will that last?” Simon returned. “Long enough for the next supervillain to do more than break his finger?”

“Simon,” hissed Caitlin, “Don't-”

“It's not going to happen again,” interrupted Tony in a serious, threatening tone. “Trust me. I'm going to make damn sure of it. After I'm through with Doom, no one else is ever even going to lay a finger on Martin. I guarantee it.”

Mum came out of the kitchen with a full tray of mugs, a cafetiere and a large teapot, interrupting Martin's indecision over whether or not he should go in and tell Simon to shut up.

“Oh Martin,” she said. “Could you hold the door for me?”

“Of course,” he said, moving to open the sitting room door for her.

Inside, Simon and Tony were glaring at each other, but they broke off when Mum came in, plastering smiles on. “Oh, Mum-o, let me get that for you,” said Simon, jumping up to get the tray. “You set yourself down and I'll pour.”

“I'm fine, Simon,” said Mum. “Now, what does everyone want?”

Martin slipped back next to Tony as the rigmarole of dolling out teas and coffees began, and handed him the present. “Merry Christmas.”

Tony beamed at him. “You really shouldn't have, the stocking this morning was more than enough. I'm totally going to have to persuade Pepper to give me some paperwork on actual paper so I can use those plane paperclips, by the way. Maybe some of the health and safety crap that the aviation department seem to generate all the time: that would be fitting right?”

He ripped the paper off as he spoke, then opened the box. “It's an altimeter.”

He sounded faintly puzzled and Martin rushed to explain. “Yes, it's the same as the one in GERT-I,” he said. “And, um, JARVIS helped me set it so that it will show my altitude. Or, well, my ring's altitude, because that's where I put the chip, but I never take it off, so it's my alti-”

Martin was cut off by a one-armed hug and a hard kiss from Tony. “It's awesome, Spitfire, thank you.” He looked back at it, squinting down at the needle. “Somewhere between zero and a hundred, yeah? I kinda want to take you up in the suit so that I can watch it change.”

“It's too cold for that,” said Martin. “You'll just have to wait until my next flight, which is on Tuesday.”

“Looking forward to it already,” said Tony. He looked back at the altimeter and tapped it, as if expecting it to change, then his head shot up and he frowned at Martin. “Wait, there's a chip in your ring that tells JARVIS where you are?”

“Yes,” said Martin. “JARVIS said that was the best way to get it to work.”

Tony pulled out his phone and jabbed at it. “JARVIS, did you GPS tag my boyfriend?”

“Yes sir,” said JARVIS. “Merry Christmas.”

Tony beamed at Martin. “I have the best AI,” he said. “Seriously. Who else builds tech that gets him a Christmas present? Not Doom, that's for sure. No way his bots would think of that.”

“You don't think it's a bit creepy to have your AI tracking your boyfriend's movements?” asked Simon.

Tony shrugged. “Hey, wasn't my idea.”

“It was mine,” said Martin. “And I really don't mind. It's not as if I ever go anywhere I don't want him to know about.”

“I suppose it will be useful if he gets kidnapped again, but without you,” said Caitlin.

“Oh, Caitlin, don't say that,” said Mum. “I'm sure Martin will be fine. Tony seems far too nice to have more than one nasty enemy like that.”

The atmosphere in the room strained with the silence of everyone carefully not saying anything.

“Here, let me give you your present,” said Tony, breaking it. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope, which he handed to Martin. “And don't panic,” he added. “I consulted with Pepper for ages about what was too much to give you. My first twelve ideas, she shot down in flames as far too extravagant, but apparently this one is cool. I still think a giant inflatable aeroplane would have been epic. You could have mounted it on your building's roof; it would have been totally classy.”

Martin was suddenly more wary of the envelope. Oh god, what if Tony had got him something that was far too much? What if Pepper hadn't been able to rein his extravagance in enough?

He carefully opened it to reveal a card with a Spitfire MK VB on the front, flying over a snowy landscape with Iron Man alongside as wingman. Inside the card was a slip of paper.

_Captain Martin Crieff has been booked in for a Two Seater Spitfire Flight & Heritage Hangar Tour at Biggin Hill Airport. This will include:_

_• A detailed pre-flight briefing covering the aircraft, equipment and in flight safety procedures_  
• A 30 minute flight experience in the rear seat of a Two seater Spitfire  
• Guided Tour of the Biggin Hill Heritage Hangar for up to three guests  
• Q+A session with the hangar team with close up access to the aircraft being restored. 

“Oh,” Martin gasped, staring at the words. He had to be reading them wrong. He couldn't possibly be going to fly in a Spitfire, that would be- that couldn't- He turned his eyes up to Tony's face, taking in the smug grin that had spread across it. “I'm going up in a Spitfire?”

“Yup,” said Tony. “One of the very few two-seater ones that are around. They didn't originally make any, but a few-”

“They made one,” Martin corrected him. “But later on some MK IX's were converted, and renamed TR9s.”

“Right,” said Tony. “Of course I don't have to tell you that.”

“And I'm going up in one,” said Martin again, trying to get himself to believe it.

“Yup,” said Tony. “And I bet if you mention that you're a pilot, they'll let you fly it for a bit.”

Martin felt his eyes go wide as all thought stuttered to a stop at the very idea.

“Okay,” said Tony. “You okay? You've gone kinda vacant. Did I break you?”

“A Spitfire!” breathed Martin. “Oh!”

“It seems you did break him,” said Caitlin.

Martin managed to pull himself together enough to engulf Tony in a hug and kiss him as thoroughly as he could bring himself to in front of his family. “You're incredible.”

“That's what I keep telling everyone,” agreed Tony.

****

They went to bed not long after that. It had been a long day after all, and Martin just wanted to be cuddled up in bed with Tony.

Simon had already moved his things out of the room they'd been sharing and into the room with the bunkbeds. Tony took one look at the two beds separated by a bedside table and immediately rearranged the furniture so that they could be pushed together.

“I didn't buy a giant bed for your flat just so we could end up having to share a single here,” he said.

“There is a bed for us each,” Martin pointed out.

Tony snorted. “Yeah, I also didn't fly across the Atlantic so that I could sleep in a different bed to my boyfriend. C'mon, we were kidnapped by a megalomaniac Eastern European wannabe-scientist today, we deserve snuggles.”

Martin couldn't argue with that. He helped Tony move the furniture as much as he could with a broken finger, then went to use the bathroom.

When he came out, Simon was waiting for his turn.

“Martin,” he started. “You and Tony-”

Martin groaned. “God, Simon, if you're about to give a sanctimonious speech about how we shouldn't have sex tonight, rest assured, we're both exhausted and my finger hurts too much.”

“No, that wasn't- I mean, I'm glad to hear it, obviously,” he said. “Not sure those mattresses are really cut out for that kind of thing and it will be Mum washing the sheets, but that wasn't what I was going to say.”

Martin took a deep breath. Only a few minutes and then he'd be in bed with Tony. He just had to hold on to that. “Go on, then.”

Simon paused and looked almost pained. He cleared his throat. “You and Tony. You seem very happy.”

That wasn't what Martin had been expecting. “Oh,” he said. “Ah. Yes, we are.”

Simon gave a small nod. “Well, then, I'm happy for you. You- he- Well. You seem more confident now. That's good.”

Martin stared at him. Simon grimaced and turned away. “Bathroom free? Excellent.” He disappeared while Martin was still staring at him.

Martin headed back into the bedroom in a daze to find Tony by the door, looking at him.

“Did you hear that?”

Tony nodded. “He's not a completely crap big brother,” he said. “And, let's face it, he kinda had a reason to be worried. I did nearly get you killed today.”

Martin moved close enough to lean into Tony and hold on. “But we're both fine now,” he said. “And you got me a Spitfire flight.” He clung on a bit tighter as excitement surged through him. “A Spitfire!”

Tony let out a quiet laugh and pressed a kiss to Martin's lips. “Man, I love it when you let me do things like that for you. I love you when you're all giddy with happiness.” He paused and then added in a quieter voice, “I love you.”

Martin beamed at him. “I-I love you, too,” he said, and then silently cursed himself. One day, he'd manage to say it without stuttering.

Tony just grinned and kissed him again.


End file.
